


If He Wasn't a Wizard

by Intarsia



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, Magic, Wizards, death of sirius black, thoughts, what if
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 04:49:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5362028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Intarsia/pseuds/Intarsia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry has had enough of magic after watching Sirius fall through the veil, and ponders how much better his life could have been if magic didn't exist, at least, not for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If He Wasn't a Wizard

**Author's Note:**

> Hello. It's been a while since I've written any fanfiction, so to get back into the swing of things I'm writing short ficlets (also just because its fun). The idea popped into my head that for Harry, losing Sirius was the last straw. While things may have gotten better for him after he was introduced to magic, things also got catastrophically worse. What if he picked up on this and went down the mental rabbit hole of wondering how much better things would be for him if magic wasn't real? I mean, I don't really agree with the places his thoughts take him, but he isn't exactly rational atm.

“You’re a wizard, Harry!” Hagrid had said so many years ago. Harry remembered it like it was yesterday, although it was four years ago now, four very short, very long years.

And he was a wizard. His attendance at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry proved that to the general inquirer, for no muggle had ever been schooled in those halls, nor would they ever, he mused. A wizard is what he was. Magic was in his blood, inherited from both of his parents. He was born a wizard. But sometimes, just sometimes, he wishes he wasn’t.

He was so excited, so happy, when Hagrid said those four simple words that explained the oddity of Harry’s existence. It accounted for all of those strange little happenings that always occurred around him. It explainedd why he appeared on the roof of the school when he was being chased by Dudley, it explained how his teacher’s hair turned blue, it explained why he could talk to snakes and why the glass at the zoo vanished. But it couldn’t . . . it couldn’t explain . . . why? Why him?  


Harry never understood how something so wonderful as magic and the wizarding world could be filled with such horrors. Maybe it was because he grew up in the muggle world, raised on stories of magic being good, or, at the very least, benign. It was something to be celebrated, something to be cherished. Not something to be feared. But he was wrong. That childish dream was shattered while he was still a child of but eleven years. Because magic, while amazing and life changing and beautiful, was also something to be feared. This was a lesson he would never forget.

It was pounded into him year after year, starting with Quirrel, followed by the opening of the Chamber of Secrets, and then dementors, the resurrection of Voldemort, and most recently, the death of his godfather, Sirius Black. Magic had given him so much, and also taken it away in turn. So then, was it any real surprise that the Boy-Who-Lived was tiring of being a wizard? That he was growing sick of magic and all it meant to him? For him?

This was hardly the first time Harry had mulled over such things. Only three days had passed since he had lost Sirius, watched him fall through the veil. His heart was aching from the loss of the family he had that cared, and, if he was being honest with himself, he was grieving the idea of the life he could have had with Sirius, should the escaped convict have been pardoned of his crimes. It had been three days since the question had popped into his head: the question of whether or not his life would have been better if magic never existed, or, at least, not for him.

If he wasn’t a wizard, his aunt and uncle never would have hated him. They wouldn’t have tried to ‘beat the freakishness out of him’ because it wouldn’t have existed in the first place. They would have loved him, just like they did Dudley. Maybe he would have gotten on with his cousin if Vernon and Petunia weren’t worried about Harry contaminating their precious Duddykins with that horrible magic. 

If he wasn’t a wizard, he wouldn’t have killed a man with his bare hands before he was twelve.

If he wasn’t a wizard, he wouldn’t still have a scar on his arm from when he had nearly died from the poison of a mythical snake.

If he wasn’t a wizard, he wouldn’t have nearly had his soul sucked out by fear itself.

If he wasn’t a wizard, he wouldn’t have had to watch his classmate die in cold blood.

If he wasn’t a wizard, he wouldn’t have to live with knowing his godfather’s death was his fault.

_So why does magic even exist?_ Harry though angrily, curled up in the window of the fifth year boys’ dormitory. It just makes everything worse.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Constructive criticism is welcome. Review me, dear peers. I appreciate it.


End file.
